


Late Autumn Sun [English]

by miauneko



Category: King of Fighters, The King of Fighters for Girls (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miauneko/pseuds/miauneko
Summary: Iori is cold, and he follows the sun. A story to commemorate Kyo’s 2020 birthday, based on Nagi’s line to Iori in KOFG: “Your tenacity to go after Kyo will allow you to live a long life”.
Relationships: Kusanagi Kyou & Yagami Iori, Kusanagi Kyou/Yagami Iori
Kudos: 21





	Late Autumn Sun [English]

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the first time that I try to write a KOF story in English. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language ^^.  
> A translation into Spanish is available here: [[Bajo el sol de finales de otoño](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979407)].

The narrow winding backstreets of the Shinsen-cho neighborhood, a few steps away from Shibuya’s busy commercial area, weren’t as empty as one would have expected from a chilly Saturday morning in December. A few early risers resolutely made their way to or from the grocery stores, hurrying along sidewalkless alleys. Some of them followed the paths painted in green on either side of the road, while others walked directly on the pavement, seemingly oblivious to the hazard posed by oncoming cars.

However, there seemed to be a silent understanding between the pedestrians and the drivers. The cars—compact enough to fit in the narrow streets—drove at a low speed even when the road was clear. In turn, people would effortlessly move out of the way when they heard a vehicle approaching. This happened even when the vehicles were coming from behind them, and every time, the drivers would nod slightly when passing by, as if to say ‘thank you, sorry for the inconvenience’.

Iori was walking through the area that morning, head hanging low, eyes fixed on the strip of green-painted pavement ahead of him.

A peaceful atmosphere had settled over the neighborhood. The tight, undulating streets were unremarkable, but they seemed to offer a quiet place to live. Four-story buildings stood one after another, most of them fitted with businesses on the ground floor.

Without really taking in any of the things he was seeing, Iori passed in front of convenience stores, a flower shop, several coin laundromats, and a few restaurants that were still closed at that time of the morning. He didn’t pay attention to the cars either, and the people walking by gave him a wide berth.

It was impossible for him to know if this was due to some excessive courtesy or if they could actually tell that something was wrong with him. The distress he was experiencing manifested through his dropped shoulders, the slight hunch of his back, his gaze cast low, and a slow, elaborated breathing.

But surely the people couldn’t tell how cold he was. They didn’t notice the shivers, the stabbing pain that had gotten hold of his chest and that brought a familiar, copper-like taste to his mouth.

The insistent sound of a bell nearby made him stop. Iori realized that he had made it to the railway level crossing at Shinsen Station.

Not much longer now. Only a few blocks separated him from his destination—the Daimon dojo.

The barrier was down, and a few people were waiting in front of it, most of them with their eyes fixed on the screen of their mobile phones. The train inside the station departed slowly, and seemed to take a long time to clear the crossing.

The bell continued ringing, warning that a second train was approaching from the opposite direction. Iori kept his eyes low. The sound of the bell was starting to make his head hurt, and the sudden lack of movement made him feel cold all over. He shivered while trying to ignore the chilly air displaced by the passing train, and which was biting at his cheeks and finding ways to crawl under his wine-colored jacket.

It was a clear late-Autumn day, but the sun’s rays that gently fell on his hair and his shoulders seemed to mock him. Iori could feel the warmth seeping through his clothes, but it did nothing to lessen the coldness inside of him. Even his own flames, the purple energy that coursed through his veins, were useless under such situation. The warmth they provided was fleeting, and it disappeared as soon as the flames died down.

Iori was well aware of what was going on. There was a sickness in his body, inherited from his family and a long history of grudges and an allegedly misplaced desire for revenge that led his ancestors to make some wrong decisions. He had been on the brink of death years ago, his body pushed to its limits by the very power he wielded. The purple flames were a source of strength but also carried a curse that had eaten away at his body, his soul and his mind, once.

Through sheer willpower, he had been able to overcome the curse that afflicted him, and, for years, he had lived an almost normal life. But the damage could not be undone, as his body often reminded him. Sometimes he would suffer coughing fits that made him go down to his knees, bright red blood splattering through his fingers and onto the floor.

There were nights in which his mind was full of the deceitful whispers of voices from the past. His cursed purple flames had been granted to his family by an ancient deity that now lay behind a sacred seal, but the presence of that deity had not vanished completely from his thoughts.

Over the years, he had learned to live with the burdens imposed on him even before he was born. He sought quietness and solitude, with music as his only company. With the exception of his band and the regular rehearsals, most of the time he kept to himself. Life was not bad, but...

The railway crossing’s bell kept ringing. The other pedestrians uttered some words of annoyance. A third train was coming and the barrier didn’t rise.

Iori looked up for the first time, and through the long red bangs that covered one of his eyes, he saw the large silver frame of the train. The rattling sound of the tracks made his head hurt even more.

And finally, when the train was at the station, the ringing stopped and the barrier let them through.

Iori walked forward, finding respite in the knowledge that he would soon locate what he was looking for.

Collecting his thoughts, he reflected once again on his current life. The musical scene in Tokyo was interesting; there were plenty of opportunities to become immersed in his favorite hobby and simply play the bass for days on end. He had met talented musicians, he made money recording bass lines for different bands.

But the reason—the reason why he was living in that area of Tokyo—set him on edge every time he thought about it.

His life had improved in recent years, true, but there was a constant need, and unquenchable thirst for something— _someone_ —that was beyond his control.

There was something he had to do before his body gave in to the damage of the curse; one score that he needed to settle. And every time the symptoms reminded him that he was running out of time, his thoughts went immediately to that one person.

“Kusanagi Kyo...”

Not long ago, due to circumstances related to Kyo, Iori had met another deity who went by the name of Nagi, and who had tempted him by offering to release him from the curse that shortened his lifespan. In exchange, Nagi had wanted Iori to join him and help him create a new, sacred world to replace the vile, corrupted place the current world had become.

Iori didn’t give the offer any consideration. It was probably a lie to make him cooperate, and in any case he was not going to repeat the mistakes of the past and enter into a contract with another god.

But even so, the possibility of being free from the curse lingered in his mind—unlikely as it was.

Some days had passed and Nagi’s plans had been thwarted. The god abandoned his idea of destroying the world after conceding that there was still some good to be found in humanity.

In one incongruous moment of calm in the aftermath of the fight to defeat Nagi, the god had apologized for the error of his ways and all the trouble he had caused. To Iori’s displeasure, Nagi had also shared some words with him: ‘Even if there’s no way to lift the curse that afflicts you,’ the god had said, ‘your tenacity to go after Kyo will keep you alive. And I’m sure that you’ll be able to live a long life.’

Iori didn’t need anyone to tell him that. Not even a god who claimed to be omniscient.

But there was truth to those words.

They had been true for years.

When the weakness and the pain, the voices, and the rush of his cursed blood became overwhelming, he knew where to find relief.

All he needed was to find Kyo. One look at his face was enough to make him forget about any ailment, any pain. Everything was replaced by the raw desire to erase Kyo’s existence from the world, hurting him while doing so. The agitation in his blood would turn into excitement, his accursed flames were the means through which he would claim victory over Kyo.

That was the reason why he was living in Tokyo, in that specific area of the city. He wanted to have Kyo at hand, increasing the probability of crossing into each other’s paths. And if the need arose, he would just go look for Kyo.

They were living so close to each other, a walk in the general direction of the Shinsen neighborhood and the Daimon dojo would suffice to find him.

And that was his purpose on that cold Saturday morning.

* * *

The dojo’s wooden doors were unlocked, and Iori pushed them without making a sound. He wasn’t trying to sneak into the premises, however. He was well aware that the gravel-covered front courtyard made it impossible to approach the dojo’s main buildings unnoticed.

The living quarters were to the right, but he barely paid any attention. He knew he wouldn’t find the one he was looking for there. He could feel that Kyo was in the back, in the training hall.

After clearing the graveled area, Iori walked along a narrow cement path the color of gray stone. The tiled roof of the back building came into view.

He felt a presence nearby, but he didn’t stop, and didn’t turn to look who it was.

“What’re you doing here, Yagami?” a slightly annoyed voice said. And then the annoyance turned into mockery: “Don’t tell me you came to celebrate Kyo’s birthday? I know you’re always eager to see him, but you’re way too early for the party, don’t you think?”

Without slowing down, Iori glanced toward the person who had spoken. A young man, light blue eyes the color of the clear sky, and blond short hair half hidden under a bandanna vaguely reminiscent of the Union Jack, was standing a few meters away from him, holding a full laundry basket in his hands. Despite the faint mocking smile on his lips, his sky-blue eyes were sharp and alert.

A long time ago, that man—Billy Kane—had been Iori’s teammate during one KOF. But it had been years since that tournament, and now Billy was one of the many people Iori merely ignored, as long as he didn’t get in his way.

Iori kept walking.

“Heeey, Yagami, you better not cause any trouble,” Billy called out, but made no effort to stop him.

Iori approached the training hall as his footsteps grew heavy. The sun’s rays that fell on his shoulders and his back couldn’t alleviate the coldness taking hold of body. His heart was beating faster now in anticipation, but with every pulsation came the stabbing pain in his chest. He tasted blood in his mouth, and struggled not to cough.

The dojo seemed empty, but he knew that many of its residents were there. Some in the training hall, some in the garden in the back, their voices trailing in the wind. Others were inside the house, and the smell of breakfast and the sound of their laughter came wafting through the kitchen’s open windows.

The sliding doors of the training hall opened suddenly and a dark-haired teenager came out. He was covered in sweat, but he was beaming, and the rush of adrenaline caused by intense physical activity could be heard clearly in his loud voice.

“What do you think we’ll have for breakfast, Benimaru-san?” he asked, looking over his shoulder towards a tall, slender man whose long, blond hair stood straight up, in defiance of the laws of gravity.

“You can bet one of the dishes will be grilled fish, Shingo. Yukari-chan is spoiling Kyo way too much these days,” the blonde replied cheerfully, coming out of the hall and stopping at the edge of the wooden outer veranda when his gaze fell upon Iori.

Benimaru didn’t say anything, but his countenance turned serious. Shingo was startled when he saw Iori standing at the center of the courtyard, looking towards them with his usual menacing aura.

“But I also cook your favorite dishes, Benimaru-san,” said a feminine voice coming from the house, followed by light footsteps.

A girl with long dark-purplish hair and rosewood-colored eyes came into the courtyard. She also showed surprise when she saw Iori, and she instinctively moved toward Benimaru and Shingo, who stepped in front of her in a very protective manner.

Iori scoffed, eyeing the three of them. They were huddled together, as a precaution, but none of them made a move. They knew he was dangerous, but they also knew he had no interest in them.

Through the corner of his eye, Iori noticed that Billy had come into the yard as well. The laundry basket was nowhere to be seen, and now he held a long, red wooden stick firmly in one of his gloved hands. Although Billy kept his distance from Benimaru, Shingo and the girl, his stance seemed to silently advice Iori to refrain from causing any trouble.

“Ahh, I’m so hungry.” Kyo was the last to emerge from the hall, drying the sweat off his face with a white towel. He wore a white T-shirt that morning, decorated with an asymmetric black stripe that ran diagonal down his right shoulder. He stopped halfway through the veranda and simply stood there, nonchalantly rubbing his face with the towel while the others kept their gazes fixed on Iori.

Iori narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth at the sight of Kyo. There he was, the rival he couldn’t take off his mind, and whose existence sometimes became as intrusive as the Orochi voices inside his head. The person he had sworn to kill, and who was somehow still alive.

Kyo had closed his eyes, and was passing the towel over his damp hair with deliberate slowness. Iori felt a surge of hatred course through his body. Kyo was bidding his time and acting casually, pretending not to have noticed his presence.

But, when Kyo finally lowered the piece of white cloth, he looked straight at him; his dark brown eyes were smug, and there was a disgusted expression on his face.

“Ugh, isn’t it too early for this, Yagami?” Kyo asked, sighing heavily. His voice carried a faint annoyance, but above all, it sounded resigned.

Iori frowned trying to suppress the gush of delight that was now mixed with his hatred.

Kyo’s resigned tone implied that the Kusanagi knew why Iori was there that morning. And Kyo was probably aware that there was nothing he could say to change Iori’s mind.

And that meant that they were going to face each other. Iori’s purple flames against Kyo’s crimson fire.

Iori’s breathing became easier and the cough reflex disappeared when the pain in his chest subsided.

As he held Kyo’s gaze and he thought about how much he hated the smug expression on his face, the coldness that had been distressing him since early that morning finally lessened. And when he imagined himself tearing Kyo apart, a warmth akin to that of Kyo’s flames surrounded him.

Iori had found the relief he had been seeking. Through his very existence, Kyo gave him release.

Why...?

Why was Kyo able to alleviate the afflictions of a sick body that could not be reached even by the radiance of the sun?

And why did Iori react like this to his presence? To his _existence_?

Over time, Iori had realized that he wasn’t the only one who reacted to Kyo. All those people who had gravitated toward Kyo throughout the years... Weren’t they in a similar situation?

Maybe the sacred relic Kyo carried within himself emanated a power similar to that of the sun; an energy that some living beings were unconsciously attracted to. And above all, it was an energy that cursed creatures like Iori needed in order to survive.

Or was this too far of a stretch, perhaps?

Derisively, Iori looked at those who had gathered at the courtyard, proving that his thoughts weren’t far off the truth. Benimaru and Shingo had not moved, they were still shielding Yukari, but all of them were waiting for Kyo’s reaction, as if he were some kind of leader who ruled over them through his example.

Iori knew Kyo had never aimed to become someone who would be unconditionally followed by others. On the contrary, Kyo seemed to loathe when responsibilities were thrown upon him, but, in spite of his continuous complaints and uninterested attitude, he always came through when he was needed, and thus, other powerful fighters, like those who lived in that dojo, didn’t hesitate to follow him.

Benimaru Nikaido was a skilled fighter who was able to control electricity at will, and the boy at his side, Shingo Yabuki, was a competent martial artist, despite being a normal person without any special power. Both of them were able to stand their ground on their own, but chose to adhere to Kyo’s decisions.

Even the other one, Billy Kane, whose allegiances lay elsewhere, was standing quietly by the side, weapon in hand, waiting for the slightest change in Kyo’s demeanor that would indicate that Iori wasn’t welcomed at the dojo that day.

But none of them were going to take action until Kyo made a move.

What was it going to be? A rejection? Or was Kyo going to satisfy his need?

Kyo kept looking at him straight in the eye before smirking.

“Fine. I’ll take you any day, Yagami.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Heh?”

“You’ve been running away from me lately, Kyo.”

“Maybe you’ve been particularly obnoxious with your timing.” Kyo turned around to enter the training hall once more, and spoke over his shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

“Kyo-san? Yagami-san?” Yukari tried to intervene, her voice full of concern. However, as Iori walked toward the hall and climbed the stone step to the veranda, the girl was stopped by Benimaru.

“Just let them be. Kyo probably knows what he’s doing.”

“But...”

“Kusanagi-san openly accepted Yagami-san’s challenge! It’s been so long... Do you think they will mind if I watch them?” said Shingo excitedly.

“Better stay clear of that building, Shingo, unless you want to be burned,” chuckled Benimaru, but his soft laugh didn’t conceal the grave look in his light blue eyes.

“Those two are exasperating,” sighed Billy. “I’ll go finish the laundry.” And with that, he disappeared.

Yukari stayed in the courtyard, filled with uncertainty, while Benimaru and Shingo started going over the things that they still had to do in preparation for Kyo’s birthday party.

It wasn’t long before a huge wave of purple flames emerged from the training hall’s open doors, making the walls rattle.

Yukari gasped, as a surge of orange flames swallowed the violet blaze.

“Goro-chan is not going to be happy...” said Benimaru, referring to the man who owned the dojo.

“They should take their fight outside...” muttered Shingo, making a pained face. Removing the scorch marks from the floor and walls was going to be a strenuous task. _If_ there were any floors or walls left when the improvised match was over.

“Then they would burn the outside walls,” remarked Benimaru, sighing in resignation.

“Ah!” gasped Yukari when she saw Kyo’s body hit the wooden frame of the building’s door. However, Kyo skidded, regained his balance, and then he launched back into the hall and was gone from view. “Was he... bleeding?” asked Yukari, certain that she had seen some red spots on Kyo’s white T-shirt. And then she added more urgently: “Shouldn’t we stop them?”

Benimaru and Shingo exchanged a look. The sound of an explosion shook the ground. And then they heard a short laugh. But the laughter wasn’t coming from Yagami rejoicing over his victory over Kyo. It had been Kyo’s, and he seemed to be having fun.

The sound of his friend’s laugh visibly put Benimaru at ease.

“I think they are going to be fine,” he said. “Let’s go inside and finish the preparations.”

Yukari kept her eyes on the hall for a couple of seconds and then she followed after Benimaru.

* * *

“You don’t look so good. Maybe you should stop, Yagami.”

“Speak for yourself.”

The air inside the training hall, heated by the orange and purple conflagration, had become so hot it was almost unbreathable. Kyo was panting, admitting to himself that accepting Yagami’s challenge and deciding to fight indoors had not been one of his brightest ideas.

It had seemed reasonable for the first couple of seconds. Fighting inside a large room that was meant for _practice_ was a subtle way of letting Yagami know that, maybe, they could spar for a while. There was no shame in training. Not all their fights had to be to the death.

But the subtlety of the situation was lost to Yagami, and he had attacked as he usually did—with all his might and a killing intent.

Kyo was bleeding from a wound on his waist. The pain was barely noticeable, and Kyo was sure that Yagami’s claw-like fingers had merely grazed him, but still, there was a wound there, and blood was staining his T-shirt and making him look as if he had been involved in a very serious accident.

Iori was bleeding too, but not from any injuries. There was a trace of blood in the corner of his mouth, trickling down his chin. His face was very pale, but his eyes had a savage, avid gleam to them. The more Yagami had used his purple flames, the more his breathing had become ragged, and Kyo knew very well that this had nothing to do with the irrespirable air of the hall. The redhead was pushing himself, as he usually did, neglecting the fact that by doing so he was worsening his health condition.

That morning, Iori wasn’t feeling well. Kyo had realized this the moment he set eyes on Iori standing in the dojo’s courtyard. They had known each other for so long, that the signs of Iori’s affliction didn’t go unnoticed to him. He was also aware of Yagami’s preferred way to dealt with such situation: To push himself even further, as if trying to subdue the damage caused by Orochi’s curse by proving that he wasn’t afraid of the consequences, and that he wasn’t going to stop.

One other thing Kyo had noticed during those years was that Iori seldom used the full extent of his power against people other than him. Unbelievable as it sounded, most of the time Yagami avoided a confrontation by threatening the other party.

However, when his threats didn’t work, Iori wasn’t one to shy away from an opponent, either.

But those fights were different. They were a way to get rid of an annoyance and ended as soon as the person bothering Iori went away; whereas the fights against Kyo aimed at ending his life. This was a goal Iori had not been able to attain in years, and thus they kept facing each other, on empty—and sometimes not so empty—streets, during tournaments, during chance encounters, and whenever Iori felt the urge to fight him and managed to locate him.

In recent years, Kyo had taken to running away from Iori without feeling ashamed for doing so. It was like playing a cat-and-mouse game on the streets of Tokyo. More than once, Kyo had tried to hide in a restaurant or a random shop, only to see Iori arrive some seconds later. The sixth sense that allowed them both to feel each other’s presence was a blessing and a curse, sometimes.

Being chased by Iori inevitably caused him mixed feelings. The challenge of eluding Yagami was as tiresome as it was fun. A successful escape made him grin and was also accompanied by exasperation. On the other hand, hiding and being found was the worst outcome, because of the high risk of Iori losing sight of his surroundings and causing destruction in a crowded place.

Yet, when Kyo _was_ in the mood, he didn’t back away from taking Yagami head on, as he had done that morning.

“Well then, I’ll stop,” Kyo said in an even voice.

“What did you say?”

Kyo tapped at his own chin with one finger. “I can tell you’re not well,” he said, and Iori angrily wiped the blood on his chin using his sleeve and stared at him with murderous eyes. “Let’s finish this another day.”

“We will finish this right now.”

Kyo suppressed a sigh. Yagami was becoming angrier and his menacing aura overwhelming. There was so much hatred in his eyes that Kyo felt a familiar, instinctive response compelling him to either put more distance between Yagami and him, or find a way to quickly repress the threat that Yagami represented.

“Don’t you dare run away from me again,” Iori said hoarsely.

“I’m not running away. I’m not even asking you to leave,” Kyo pointed out, wearily wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of one hand. “After all, you took the trouble to come see me on my birthday. I’m moved.” The last sentence was said jokingly and Kyo turned around and walked toward the training hall’s door.

“Kyo!”

Kyo didn’t stop. He could tell that Iori was even angrier, but the redhead made no attempt to go after him or launch another attack.

“The party won’t start until the evening, but you can stay if you want,” Kyo added.

“What I want is--” Iori’s words were cut short by a fit of coughing. Kyo stopped in his tracks and turned around. Iori was covering his mouth with one hand, his eyes shut tight, trying to suppress the cough or make it seem as if it wasn’t anything serious.

However, when the coughing subsided and he moved his hand away, there was blood on his palm and his fingers, and Kyo saw it.

“Ah, dammit. See? I was right.” There was no conceit in Kyo’s voice, only disapproval. He sounded displeased at being right. “Rest for a while, Yagami.”

Iori wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He stared at the smudged blood.

This time, Kyo let out a soft exhale.

“Now you’ve made it worse. I’ll give you something to clean yourself up. Come.”

Kyo knew better than to wait for a response. He started walking off towards the main building, where his bedroom was located, and not long after, he heard Iori’s footsteps as the redhead followed him.

* * *

They didn’t use the main entrance to the house. Kyo preferred to avoid the other fighters, who were in the living room and the kitchen, and led Iori along the outer corridors of the building. They walked in silence, some meters apart, and Kyo smiled inwardly because, in a way, he was still being followed by his rival.

However, the sense of weariness that came from years of being hunted by Yagami had disappeared completely, and it was replaced by the bizarre casualness that settled between them when they were not antagonizing each other.

Kyo stopped and opened one of the sliding doors that overlooked the back garden. It led to a medium-sized tatami bedroom with scarce furniture. There was a bed on the left, a tall wardrobe against the opposite wall, and a narrow desk.

“Make yourself at home,” Kyo said, feigning and overly polite tone. “I’ll go get some towels.”

Iori didn’t decline the invitation; he simply ignored it. Instead of entering the room, he sat on the edge of the outer corridor, facing the well-kept garden, his back toward the sliding door. The sun was high in the sky now, but its rays still failed to warm him and the coldness had enfolded him again, now that the exhilaration of his fight against Kyo was starting to fade.

Kyo came back a few minutes later, carrying a couple of wet white towels and two cups of tea. He had changed clothes and now wore a black long sleeve shirt. If the wound on his side was bothering him, he didn’t show it.

“Here.” Kyo offered him the towels and Iori took them and wiped the blood off his hands with one of them. With the other, he rubbed his face and his lips, smearing blood all over the cloth. Kyo set the cups on the floor within their reach, and then he kneeled next to him. “You could try not using them unless it’s strictly necessary,” Kyo said suddenly, gazing toward the garden and not Iori. “Your purple flames, I mean.”

“Nonsense.”

“You could still use your _other_ flames,” Kyo continued, unfazed, referring to the reddish flames Iori had been able to cast not long ago, when they were facing a powerful enemy together. “Unless those are harder to use?”

“I’ll use the most powerful means at my disposal if it ensures my victory over you.”

“It’s damaging your health.”

“You might as well tell me not to use my flames at all. It’s not going to happen.”

“Stubborn as always, eh, Yagami?”

Iori threw a sideways glance toward Kyo, and caught a passing and very faint resigned smile on his lips.

He had nothing to say to that, and thus he kept quiet.

Some minutes passed while Kyo drank his tea, still kneeling by his side. Iori became aware of the silence that surrounded them, the brightness of the sun, the soft, chilling breeze.

Cold as he was, he didn’t take long to perceive the gentle warmth that occasionally washed upon him. It would have been reasonable to think that the sun was finally doing its job, but Iori was aware that it wasn’t the sun. It was Kyo’s presence.

He stared at Kyo, who had taken his phone out and was scrolling over some messages while sipping some of the tea. Iori kept staring, with hard, unhappy eyes, until Kyo looked up.

“What?” Kyo asked in an amused tone and Iori gritted his teeth. He couldn’t bring himself to reply.

As he stared at the man he had sworn to kill, Iori reflected on his humiliating position just like he had done many times throughout his life. Unless he killed Kyo, he was never going to overcome his need for him. The unspoken, one-sided dependence would continue unchanged. And he hated Kyo for that, and also hated the events of the past that had brought them together like this, pushing them toward their current life circumstances, regardless of how much they had struggled to attain some degree of normalcy.

“Repeating myself is tiresome, you know?” Kyo said. He spoke in a low voice, but his words were firm. “If you’re unwell, I can help. Nothing bad is going to happen if we skip one fight. You’ll continue hating me and I’ll continue finding you extremely annoying.” Iori scoffed disdainfully but Kyo added: “If I can help you, I will. I’m not going to turn you down.”

Iori kept silent. A part of him wanted to push Kyo away; while another part entertained the idea of seeing what his offer was about. Kyo waited, and then he smiled faintly when no reply came. The absence of a straight up rejection was as good as if Iori had agreed.

For a while, it seemed that Kyo was not doing anything. He remained in a kneeling position, his hands resting on his lap, still holding his cell phone. He closed his eyes and exhaled softly.

And suddenly, Iori felt that Kyo’s energy was everywhere around him. It wasn’t visible, but he could perceive it clearly because his body was sensitive to that strong _ki._ Finding traces of this energy in random streets could mean that Kyo was close by, or that he had been in the area not long ago, and he was always looking for it.

It was through this energy that Iori could sometimes read and anticipate Kyo’s attacks, by focusing on the ripples and fluctuations of his _ki_ when they were fighting each other.

However, that morning, with the two of them simply sitting there without doing anything in particular, what Iori perceived in that energy was Kyo’s calmness. Despite his words, Kyo wasn’t bothered by their proximity or by his presence at the dojo.

And gradually, Iori started to feel the effect of the energy. It was the same relief he experienced when they were fighting, when the orange flames engulfed him and singed his skin.

But, unlike their fights, now there was no pain to be felt, only Kyo’s energy touching his hands and his cheeks as delicately as the wintery sunlight. And there was warmth in that faint caress, which displaced the coldness residing in his body and soothed the discomfort in his chest.

Kyo opened his eyes and, without breaking his concentration, looked at him and smiled more broadly.

“If the main purpose of the Kusanagi flames is to _purify_ , then they should be able to do more than destroy gods, burn things down and cause destruction. Right, Yagami?”

“How should I know.”

“Is it working?”

It was. Breathing came easily, and he was able to feel the warmth of the sun again.

But Iori could also tell that using the energy of the Kusanagi relic this way was rapidly taking its toll on Kyo. In mere seconds, Kyo’s face had become tense, and his shoulders and back were rigid, as if he were straining under a heavy weight.

“Stop,” Iori said.

“I don’t think this is nearly enough.”

“Stop it.”

Iori grabbed Kyo by the arm. After the initial surprise, Kyo chuckled, looking at Iori’s hand and the redhead’s fingers that were digging into the sleeve of his shirt.

“You have me confused with certain manager who overuses her powers and then faints,” Kyo said in a carefully inexpressive tone.

“That’s enough,” Iori grumbled, releasing his grip. Kyo was referring to Yukari, who had a sort of divine purification power that had helped the fighters in more than one occasion. However, every time she made use of her powers, Yukari was left in a weakened state, and the residents of the dojo had advised her against overusing that skill, lest she put her health in danger.

Kyo conceded with a nod, and rubbed his arm absentmindedly.

Iori stood up.

“I wasn’t joking, you know?” Kyo said before Iori took a step. “You’re welcomed at the party if you want to come.”

“Hmph.”

Again, Kyo smiled. Iori sounded annoyed, but he didn’t reject the invitation.

* * *

Iori was sitting on the veranda’s edge again, looking at the garden and smoking a cigarette, when he heard the other door to Kyo’s bedroom slide open. Yukari was standing in the corridor that connected the bedroom to the rest of the house.

“Kyo-san, breakfast is ready. Everyone is waiting for you,” the girl said. “Kyo-san, are you here?”

Yukari stepped into the room and halted abruptly when she noticed that Kyo was lying on the outer corridor’s wooden floor, behind Yagami. Kyo was on his side, with his back turned to her, and covered up to his face with a wine-colored jacket that Yukari quickly recognized as belonging to Iori.

The girl gave one unsteady step toward them. Her eyes went from Kyo’s motionless form to Iori, and back to Kyo again.

She was clearly fearful of Iori, but tried to conceal her fear.

Then she noticed that there was blood on the jacket’s sleeves.

“Is... Is he... hurt?” she muttered. Mustering her courage, she covered the meters separating her from Kyo and fell to her knees next to him. “Kyo-san,” she called out. “Kyo-san, please answer me.”

Kyo didn’t move. Iori looked at Yukari out of the corner of his eye. The girl’s face was pale, and although her hands were raised, she didn’t dare touch Kyo.

“What is wrong with him?” she finally asked, looking up towards Iori, her rosewood-colored eyes full of dread.

Iori chuckled to himself. Yukari had kept a polite tone and she had picked her words carefully. But, in her eyes, Iori could read that what she wanted to ask was: ‘what have you done to him?’

“He overused his powers and fainted,” Iori said dryly, with a humorless voice.

“W-What?” stammered Yukari.

Kyo moved then, startling the girl. “I didn’t faint,” he said in an annoyed yet muffled voice from under the jacket. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Yukari visibly calmed down, her worry turned into bewilderment.

“On the floor?” she asked. “Your bed is just a couple of steps away...”

“The sun feels nice.” Kyo’s answer was dead serious, and Yukari looked helplessly at Iori.

The redhead simply kept smoking, without saying anything.

“I’m fine, just save me some breakfast,” mumbled Kyo lazily.

“If you say so...” muttered Yukari, but as she was about to stand up, footsteps were heard in the corridor and Shingo appeared.

“Kusanagi-san, Mitsumine-san, what is taking you so lon--“ Shingo’s words trailed off when he saw Kyo lying on the floor, Iori smoking, and Yukari half-kneeling. “Yagami-san, what did you do? IS HE DEAD?” he demanded, rushing to his teacher’s side.

Kyo grumbled something under the jacket.

“Don’t worry, Shingo-kun. He’s... taking a nap,” explained Yukari.

“On the floor?”

“Apparently, the sun feels nice in that spot.”

“What?”

Yukari stood up and gestured for Shingo to return with her to the dining room. The boy followed her with a very confused expression on his face. He was used to Kyo taking impromptu naps, like years ago on the school’s rooftop, or more recently among the plants that grew in the garden, but Kyo wasn’t in the habit of displaying such an indolent attitude in Yagami’s presence.

“Do you think we should call the others?” asked Yukari, sensing the boy’s uneasiness.

Shingo thought hard for an instant, sighed, and then he shook his head.

* * *

Iori wondered once more why he hadn’t left the dojo already. And the answer was a very simple one: there was something keeping him there.

“So your powers are not to be used like this,” Iori scoffed, glancing at Kyo, who was still lying on the floor with his eyes closed.

Not long after sharing his energy, Kyo’s face had grown pale and the temperature of his body had dropped abruptly. Saying that he wanted to take a quick nap was just an idiotic excuse to conceal that now he was the one who wasn’t feeling well.

“Cut me some slack. I trained all morning, then I had to fight you. And I haven’t eaten. Maybe I’m just tired,” Kyo mumbled.

“Then you’re weak.”

Kyo opened one eye and looked at Iori with a smirk.

“But you don’t look like you’re in pain anymore. It means that it worked. And, if it worked, it was worth it.”

“Hmph.” Iori didn’t like what he was hearing, but Kyo wasn’t wrong.

“There has to be more to this than simply inheriting a power to destroy divine beings,” Kyo continued. “Much has been lost to time, but the fire hasn’t changed. Maybe it’s a matter of rediscovering what other uses it has.”

Iori glanced at Kyo, who was speaking more softly, his smile half covered by the jacket Iori had thrown on top of him at some point when he saw that Kyo was shivering.

Kyo was right, but he didn’t seem to be aware of the simplicity of it all. The Kusanagi flames purified evil gods, and could cause untold amounts of destruction, but, as any ordinary fire, those flames also provided light and warmth and a refuge from the cold.

Iori thought of all the people, himself included, who were unconsciously drawn toward that energy and gathered around Kyo, just like other living beings sought the light of the sun.

“Don’t you know all this?” muttered Iori.

“Know what?” asked Kyo.

Iori sighed.

If Kyo was oblivious to the effect he had on people—on _him_ —he could remain unaware forever. Maybe this would palliate part of the humiliation Iori had to live with every day.

The thought made Iori chuckle. Kyo looked at him strangely from the floor.

Without knowing why, before retrieving his jacket, Iori brushed Kyo’s brown hair with the back of his hand.

“What was that for...?” Kyo started to ask, perplexed.

But Iori was already standing up, and he had taken the jacket away, and before Kyo knew it, the redhead was halfway across the garden, on his way to the exit.

~ Fin ~

お誕生日おめでとうございます京サマ！  
December 12, 2020  
MiauNeko


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